After Effects
by YoukoHaru
Summary: Our names were like colours dancing together, in the cool night sky. However close colours of reds, blue, and magentas that made up my new world were suddenly tainted with darker, more sinister pigments. The voices called and the spiders crawled, lacing over bones and sewing my mouth shut.


Darkness still cloaked my room as the clock read almost six in the morning. Rain was gently hitting the outdoor environment and the crickets just sang their lonely songs like always. I, however, just stared at the bright screen of my laptop watching some animated show from my childhood as insomnia refused to let me sleep. The night had greeted me with its usual emotional ups and downs and a message here and there from him, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

But as the credits for the episode came across the screen, I started to wonder what to do now. Sleep would have been the most obvious thing, if I was able to. However since I don't possess the capability to do so, my aching body forced itself up, making its way to the mirror than hung on the wall. Peering into it, I found the long mess that was my hair needed brushing. Picking up the brush, I began grooming my mane and my gaze lingered to my eyes that were bloodshot from sleep deprivation and dark circles darkening in pigment underneath them. I was beginning to look sick, but I found myself not caring. It was far too early to be caring too much about how I looked or what condition I was in. The only thing that I cared for at the moment was when I was going to start playing video games again and that the voices in my head had ceased.

Flopping back down onto my twin bed I started another episode. As the theme music began playing, I suddenly felt my eyes growing heavy.

The loud crashing of thunder shook the windows as I jolted up from my slumber, frightened by the sudden noise. Rain was pouring and the skies were dark, the wind snaking through my cracked window and making the curtains quiver. I glanced at the clock and it read half past twelve. I sighed heavily and dragged myself to the bathroom, iPod in hand.

Shutting the door behind me, I turned the lock until it clicked. Despite being the only one occupying my tiny apartment, I make sure every door and window was locked if left unused. The weather left a lonely chill, making me turn on the mini heater that sat on the long black counter. While it warmed the room up, I proceeded to turn the water of my shower on to a warm setting, put out fresh towels and stripped out of the clothes I slept in. Right after I clicked on some upbeat tunes, I slithered into the warm waterfall and began to freshen myself up.

A few songs had passed and I was letting the conditioner sit in my hair, I looked down. My gaze ventured past slightly protruding hip bones to my legs. Dark lines of different sizes were striping the appendages, like stripes on a tiger. My fingertips traced over them, finding their way to skin toned defects of long ago.

These scars the covered my legs were a constant reminder, of how damaged I am. They also remind me that I'm still here, though. That knowledge of my existence didn't suffice. It never did. No matter how large or how deep the gashes ran, I never felt anything real, besides constant torment and agony. Torment from my past. Agony from the continuation of the life no one will let me release. No matter who I've tried explaining this to, it's like it never quite reaches them.

They don't know what it's like to detest, to hate every fiber of their mortal being. To have the most insane urges to slice their skin open. To starve for days, only to eat large amounts of food to throw it all up. They just don't. Anyone that has learned anything dark about me has walked away. Friends, relationships, strangers. I don't get hurt by it anymore. I've grown so accustom to it. It's not normal. People say. Well, I've never been normal. Never been the pretty or popular one, the athlete, or the most liked. I'm just. Here. It's all I've ever done, is float around, hoping, praying to a godless world that someone, just one person, would stop and notice me for me. Not for how fucked up I am.

Through the water that now cascaded down my head, I felt stinging of soap in my eye, from where I had lost attention to the purpose of showering. I thoroughly scrubbed by eyes of the soapy acid and stepped out to dry off and pull on an over-sized shirt. Once I had finished cleaning up in the bathroom, I returned to my room to grab my phone so I could watch TV in my itty-bitty living room that only contained a thirty-two inch flat screen, assorted game systems, and a futon couch. I unlocked the mobile device when I flipped on a UK TV station.

_Ping-ping._

My phone's screen lit up as the text message tone pinged. I unlocked the device and saw a message:

_Kill yourself._


End file.
